


Ryan Ross Is Not A Synonym For 'Call Me When You Need A Dogsitter'

by Marie_thevillain



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco, Young Veins
Genre: Brendon is in denial, Dottie is the sweetest creature, Gen, Pretty much all the dogs are innocent pure beings, Ryan loves Dot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-08-30 17:10:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8541721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_thevillain/pseuds/Marie_thevillain
Summary: Jackson looks down at his notes. “You used to live with a former band member, didn’t you? Ryan Rose?”Brendon is so done with this interview.





	1. Chapter 1

        Brendon Urie, the frontman (only man) of Panic! At The Disco, is hyperactive. He’s brash, excitable, altogether too fond of alcohol, and possibly high 15/7. A solid 20 hours on Sunday.

        He is also arrogant (with reason), sure of himself, outspoken (did you see what he did after the Orlando shooting??), and utterly in denial of Panic!’s former years.

        In interviews, he dodges it. Any questions of old members, reunions, parties (lookin’ at you, Adam Levine) are sidestepped with ease. Fans still speculate on his apathy, tweeting him, asking questions on periscope, and many, so many, pictures.

        Yet with all of this (evidence *cough cough*), he remains as in denial as a southern Democratic court overlooking an African American’s plea to vote in the late 1800’s.

        Brendon Urie, leading member of Panic!, is adamant.

        Brendon Urie, the last member of Panic! At The Disco, is different. He still smokes, though, not as often as he used to. He’s certainly extroverted, but once done with an interview, he likes to have a moment alone, to escape the mindset needed for cameras. When he isn’t answering interviewers’ questions, he is in his home, either trying to teach himself to cook or dabbling in song ideas.

        So far the cooking thing hasn’t worked out very well.

        It isn’t a lonely life. His dogs keep him company at home. They’re cheerful and hyper, but Bogart is getting up there in age. Brendon tries to ignore it. He has someone keeping an eye on them when he's out.

        When he needs human company, Dallon, Kenny, Pete, have all stuck around. But Dallon has his family most days, and Pete is busy with all of his projects, so when it isn’t business, Brendon isn’t likely to see them.

        Today, of all days, Brendon Urie, the last member of Panic!, needs to be home. Instead, he is stuck in an awkward radio interview after playing an acoustic of Victorious.

        “And how long has it been since your last tour? Only a week, right?” The host’s voice is exaggerated and questioning.

        Brendon perks up, “Yeah, yeah, just five days, I think?” He laughs, “I lose time when I’m on tour, all the days blend together after a while.”

        The interviewer (who has brown hair and the customary radio-host-plaid-shirt on) leans closer to his microphone. “I’d guess that being home is a relief? Seeing the world in a year is a lot.”

        “Total relief, man. I love touring, getting to travel, play with my tour-mates, but home is definitely necessary for recharging.”

        “Now, you live alone? I’m guessing it’s nice and quiet. Big difference from concerts every night.”

        Brendon shifts in his seat, “I’m not totally alone. I’ve got my dogs, my babies. They keep me busy.” He smiles, knowing they’re filming the interview for online listeners.

        The interviewer, Brendon remembers his name is Jackson, presses on. “It doesn’t get lonely, being by yourself?”

        His smile turns a little uncertain. “No, not really. I’ve got friends that come over. We’ll go out, check out some clubs, see local bands. Again, it’s such a switch from touring in that I don’t have a set schedule, so it’s nice to just relax, not have to worry about anything.”

        Jackson looks down at his notes. “You used to live with a former band member, didn’t you? Ryan Rose?”

        Brendon’s face freezes for a second before he collects himself. “Uh, yes, Ryan Ross.” He emphasizes the “Ross” part of his sentence.

        Jackson continues on, not noticing his mistake, “Whatever happened with him?”

        Brendon puffs air into his cheeks and raises his eyebrows. “Bandwise? He and another member, Jon Walker, wanted to do their own thing. They had a band for a while.” A bit of stretching of the truth, but Jackson doesn’t know that. He didn’t even know Ryan’s name.

        Jackson laughs, “How’d that work out with your living arrangements?”

        Brendon is so ready to be done with this interview.

 

* * *

 

 

        Ryan grabs his keys from the bowl on the counter. “Dottie.” He whistles, and the elderly dog pads up to him, tail wagging.

        Dottie is the sweetheart of his life. She’s calmed down in her old age, but she’s always willing to go out with Ryan.

        He slides on his leather jacket and clips her leash on. “C’mon, Dottie. We’re gonna check up on our friends, okay?”

        Dottie is perfectly happy with this and expresses it with her special “I-love-my-human-Ryan-Ross-is-an-angel-and-I-will-never-leave-him-because-he-is-my-human” gaze.

        Ryan smiles at his girl and they leave, set for another house, only a few streets away.

        When he told Brendon he’d check in on Bogart and Penny Lane, he hadn’t anticipated just how often he would have to do it. But, Brendon was insistent that it be Ryan. It makes sense, he lives the closest, but that doesn’t mean he should have to go over every other day. Especially now that Brendon is home. Dot’s paws will get sore at this point. He glances down at his companion, making sure she is keeping up alright.

        Dottie is blissfully trotting alongside her master. She doesn’t concern herself with the distance, just that it’s time for a journey. She knows the path by now, and when they near the last street, she woofs to alert her master that their destination is at hand. Her master scratches her ears, and she is glad to have done her duty.

        Ryan looks up and down the street before going up Brendon’s driveway. It still isn’t normal to be doing this. Even after the months of building it into his routine while Brendon toured, it just doesn’t feel right to be going to his house alone. It makes Ryan feel like an invader.

        He can hear the dogs inside, their nails scrambling on the hardwood floors, and their barks letting Dot know she is about to have a warm greeting. At first, Ryan was hesitant to take Dot with him on these check-ins; he didn’t know how the dogs would react to each other, but after a week of separate walks for both his dog, and Brendon’s, he gave up and tested it out. The dogs loved the extra canine company, and there hadn’t been any hostility between the three, so he kept it up.

        “Calm down, I’m getting in.” He unlocks the front door and backs the dogs up with his foot, letting Dot join them inside.

        Ryan unclips Dot’s leash as the dogs began yapping with one another, exchanging whatever exclamations of excitement and gossip dogs can exchange.

        He slips his shoes off and walks further into the house. Brendon has no sense of organization, and it shows, even in his placement of dog leashes. It takes a few minutes of searching through the hall closet before Ryan finds the leashes, and during that time his phone has gone off twice.

        Once he checks it, there’s been two texts from the man himself.

 _Lactose Intolerant: be home_ earlr _then_ i _thought_

 _Lactose Intolerant: you_ dont _have to worry abt the dogs_

        Ryan sighs and tries to figure out if it’s worth the awkwardness of explaining that he’s already here, he’s finally found the leashes (underneath a winter coat that likely hasn’t seen the light of day for months), and is willing to walk the dogs anyway, or if he should just leave and pretend none of this happened.

        Penny Lane’s yip turns into a bark, and there’s a sharp crash.

        "Well, that decides it." Ryan closes the closet door and ventures back into the living room to see what the dogs have managed to break. "Maybe I can get out of here before he gets back."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't enjoy the time spent at Brendon's house. And that's the story he's going to tell everyone who knows about his visits. Which is no-one. So. Yeah.

        Brendon leaves the studio, debating whether he should get something to eat while he’s out or take a chance at cooking some stir fry at home. The shame of eating out for once a day since he’s gotten home (at least) makes him forego the new Italian restaurant down the street. It’s not fun eating out by yourself anyway.

        He picked up some bell peppers and beef on the way home.

        Hallelujah is on the radio. He didn’t know that was on the radio. Huh. He drives home slower than usual. He isn’t a speed demon per say (he is), but tonight feels different. Like he isn’t really living in it. Maybe he isn’t. Maybe he’s watching someone else go through his life.

        Who was that philosopher guy? Descartes? Brendon remembers thinking he was crazy for having to prove to himself that he existed. How could anyone be uncertain as to their existence? You’re always alive until you aren’t. Right?

        “I think, therefore I am.” Brendon stops at a red light. For the first time in a while, he understands the need for proof.

        There have been many times he felt disconnected from life. He nearly gave up on Panic! more times than he can remember. Maybe he should have.

        “I think, therefore I am.” He repeats the phrase. He understands the meaning, but the answer to Descartes’ question “Do I exist?” only leads to a more frightening one. Why do I exist?

        A car honks behind him, and Brendon comes back to himself. “Not the time, bastard. Wait ‘til you’re home.”

 

* * *

 

        Ryan doesn’t mind cleaning the glass. He hasn’t found any in the pups’ paws. Dottie was very patient with him, sitting quietly as he checked her feet and licking his fingers once he finished. Bogart was comfortable with being picked up. He also expressed love through doggy kisses. Penny gave Ryan a short chase through the kitchen but eventually jumped onto his lap for a treat.

        He let the dogs into the backyard and is now trying to find any stray shards of the (now deceased) vase. Why Brendon has a random glass vase in his living room, Ryan doesn’t know. It wasn’t something to worry about anymore, at least.

        ‘Really Bren? Clear glass with dogs?’ He grunts as he stands up. ‘And in a carpet. Time to find a vacuum.’

        Well, no need to check the hall closet.

        He’s sure Brendon has a maid that does the cleaning, but there has to be something. If not a vacuum, then a hand-held sucker.

        Ryan walks back to the master bedroom, hesitating before opening the door. The room is fairly bare. There are awards on the floor beside the closet, not yet hung on the walls. A small bookshelf with a lamp on it stands in for a bedside table. ‘Is this creepy? Yes. But maybe he still-yep.’

        He opens the closet and finds a vacuum next to two guitar cases. ‘Same as always.’ Brendon kept the vacuum in the bedroom because of his tendency to eat messy foods in bed. Ryan always told him he could just wash the comforter, or, you know, use a plate, but Brendon just munched on his snacks, then complained about the crumbs on the floor in the morning.

        Ryan smirks as he rolls the vacuum out to the living room. Penny Lane is yapping at the door, trying to convey that “yes, outside is fun, but I like to eat too”.

        “Few more minutes, Penny. Then you can come in.” He vacuums the remaining pieces of glass before opening the door, letting the black dog run inside. “Your dad’ll be home soon. Don’t worry, I’ll be out of here.” He keeps the door open to whistle for the other two. “Dottie, time for home.”

        The older dogs skip up to him, sitting down and gazing up with expectant eyes, “Give-us-food-Ryan”.

        The man groans. “No. Please, no?” Dottie thumps her tail against the ground, tongue hanging out.

        Ryan sighs at the ceiling. “I’m whipped by a dog. This is my life.” Looking back down at the innocent conspirators. The ones who control his decisions. He is not an independent being. His mind had been taken by animals years ago.

        He crouches down. “And it’s all your fault. You were so cute as a puppy.”

        Dottie demonstrates the fact that she has not lost her cuteness in age by rolling onto her back, asking for pets on the tummy.

        Ryan demonstrates his independence by choosing (of his own free will, mind you) to oblige her.

        Bogart has lost all interest and joined Penny by the food bowls. Their whines let Ryan know he will not be leaving until they have been fed.

        He promises himself that he doesn’t enjoy the time at Brendon’s. It’s a silent house except for barks and snuffles. It’s a safe place. The dogs don’t judge him or dissect what he does. They just love on him or leave him be. More people should be like dogs.

        Ryan has never seen another person in this house. Brendon always told him when he would be gone, and there was no possibility of an awkward encounter when he was on tour. He supposes there’s a chance for him to run into the maid, but he hasn’t seen them yet. Just their handiwork.

        It’s a change of pace from the rest of life. Granted, his life is far slower than it was all those years ago. Life in music was too fast for him. Everyone needed him to make something new for them, to tell them the reasoning behind everything he did, to explain the relationships and words he held dear. No, it wasn’t music that was too fast. It was the scene. The scene was a magnifying glass thrust over your life and mistakes, and Ryan was someone who preferred to keep his details secret.

        Music should be slow. Intimate. At first, it was. Then Ryan got his wish and people started listening to it. Their music, his, Brendon, Spencer, and Jon’s, became well known.

        It was amazing. There was a permanent lightness in his chest after being signed by Pete. Nothing could take him from the high of success. People were appreciating his work. They sang his words back to him. The same words he whispered to eavesdropping shadows in the night. The secrets only known by invisible enemies. The prose he almost didn’t show Spencer, for fear of misunderstanding.

        It was sung back to him at concerts. It was sung to him from Brendon.

        Then, one day, Spencer didn’t understand anymore. Brendon couldn’t sing the words to him. He hadn’t experienced the meaning behind them yet. Their lives changed. They had unique outlooks and went through life with different lenses.

        Brendon’s idolization of him became tainted when he realized that, yes, Ryan had flaws, he just didn’t showcase them. Which made them all the worse when found out.

        Spencer and Brendon still understood each other. They had the same vision for music. Jon went with Ryan partly out of guilt. Eventually, they admitted to their differences too.

        Life was just too fast.

        Taking care of Dottie, writing songs for his ears only (though, never again about night time secrets), and traveling was how he chose to live. It wasn’t purposeless. He had time to learn about the world around him, and traveling to other countries was far more fun when there wasn’t a strict schedule to adhere to.

        He wasn’t a hermit. Actually, he kept in touch with friends from the scene. Just not publicly. It was less messy that way.

        Life was pleasant.

        Then Brendon texted him (out of the blue) a year ago, asking if he’d be willing to check in on the dogs while he was on tour. Ryan wanted to ask why he didn’t just put them with a dog-sitter, then realized he was the dog-sitter in question.

        He almost replied with, “Going for the charity option?”, but thought better of it. Hey, if Brendon was going to offer him free time with dogs, he’d take it.

        Apparently, Brendon’s reasoning was Bogart already knew Ryan, and so it would be easier for the dogs to get used to him coming around, and Ryan had moved near Brendon a few years before. How Brendon knew that when Ryan didn’t, he had no idea. And it concerned him.

        He agreed (obviously) and after getting over the weirdness of entering someone’s house like a teenager trying not to get caught after a night out, it was surprisingly...okay.

        Bogart had indeed remembered him. His excited jumps made Ryan laugh. Penny was more cautious, but after a few days of being fed and let out (sometimes walked, Ryan did already know the neighborhood), she decided Ryan was good enough to have his leather jacket slept on. 

        When Brendon was on tour, Ryan spent more time at his house than strictly necessary. The large windows in the living filled the house with light, and everything seemed clean and pure. He even had a favorite couch cushion to read on.

        Ryan’s never telling anyone, but...he enjoys the time at Brendon’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, this'll be classified as complete, because I really don't know if I'll keep writing it. It really is something I just spew out onto my google docs when I'm needing a release. I don't want to promise updates [I have a really long fic that I haven't updated in forever cause I'm a perfectionst and I want it to be flawless before I put up the next chapter (SO INCREDIBLY SORRY TO MY XION READERS!)] and I don't want to set up expectations for me to let down :/
> 
> Once more I have been forced to distract myself from the terrifying prejudices and hatred in this world by turning to Ryan Ross and Dottie. Pro-tip, putting Spotify on shuffle while writing and having What A Catch, Donnie come on will not help your sad mental state. It'll just make you cry. Thanks, Pete.
> 
> I never wrote that. It didn't happen. Ignore all memes and trash that come forth from my mouth. Which is a very pathetically large percentage of what I say.
> 
> Don't watch crack videos. It'll ruin your life and you'll be able to make references about everything.
> 
> On a different note, I found a lovely internet archive with old (10+ years, and isn't it sad that 2009 was 7 years ago???) Ryden, Gabilliam, and Frerard manifestos on them. Which tells you how amazing my social life is.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2:13 a.m.  
> Brendon: plssss pls  
> 2:14 a.m.  
> Ryro: Why don't you get a dog-sitter?  
> 2:14 a.m.  
> Brendon: ur the dgsyyr

        Brendon tries again, pronouncing the words for the third time. "Easy. Stir. Fry. Recipes."

        "I'm sorry. I didn't understand the question."

        He gives up on Siri and decides to just look it up when he gets home. The drive isn't long when compared to the hours he is used to spending on the road, but it'll still be another thirty minutes before he can make dinner and take care of his puppies.

        He briefly wonders if Ryan has already done so, but he never got a reply to his text earlier and it was safe to assume he hadn't.

        When Brendon first texted Ryan about the dogs, he was more than a little drunk (it was a birthday party with a free bar, you know you would do it too) and hadn't even realized the conversation happened until the next morning when he read a string of messages detailing how long his tour would be, where the spare key was hidden, what the security code was, and how many dog treats were considered too many (the answer being four).

        After going through them, he was surprised to see Ryan's response as being a tentative yes. At first, the man vehemently argued against it, citing that Brendon would be better getting a dog-sitter.

  
  
      _2:13 a.m._

_Brendon: plssss pls_

_2:14 a.m._

_Ryro: Why don't you get a dog-sitter?_

_2:14 a.m._

_Brendon: ur the dgsyyr_

_Brendon: pls bogart knws u_

_Brendon: and u liv lk 3 strts awy_

_2:17 a.m._

_Ryro: Don't typecast me._

_Ryro: How would you know that?_

_2:17 a.m._

_Brendon: and i wont be there_

_Brendon: cuz im touring for a yearrrr_

_Brendon: so u dnt have to seeeeeeme_

_Brendon: i live like 3 streets awayfrm u_

_Brendon: wdnt take long. just half hour a day_

_2:20 am_

_Ryro: Brendon._

_2:21 am_

_Brendon: 'pls? Bogart knows u. u get puppy playtimes'_

_2:21 a.m._

_Ryro: Fine. Send me the details in the morning; at a sane hour, please._

_2:22 a.m._

_You: ur the bestestt_

_2:23 a.m._

_Ryro: Tell me that when you can walk a straight line._        

        Needless to say, waking up in William Beckett's bathtub and reading the conversation which really demonstrated that Ryan had the patience of a saint, especially to be willing to do this after being asked in the middle if the night, was a surreal experience. It was then interrupted by Saporta walking in, declaring the need to pee, and doing just that.

        Brendon didn’t go to their house anymore.

        After thinking about it, he decided it wasn’t the worst idea to have Ryan watch his babies. It was odd, and maybe a bit awkward (it was so awkward, he didn’t want to chance running into him by accident), but Ryan loved Bogart and Brendon was sure he’d take good care of the pups.

        Once home (and no longer nursing the killer hangover), he sent Ryan a long message detailing when he’d be gone, where the spare key was, how many dog biscuits were too much (he knew Ryan would ignore that and make his dogs fat), and the basic rules of being in his house. The last part was made up of a few general things like ‘don’t let the neighbor’s cat inside’ (he figured Ryan would do it anyway), ‘the tv’s all yours’ (he doubted Ryan would use it all that much), and ‘I know exactly how many video games I own and if any are missing I know for a fact that the maid has no interest in Legend of Zelda’.

        Remembering how nervous he was about having Ryan in his house (but not nervous about the dogs, more about the odds of Ryan stealing and never returning them), Brendon is glad it worked out the way it did. He’s never had any problems, though one time he did come home to find a new profile on MarioKart. Other than that, there have never been any signs of Ryan’s presence (would he mind?). The dogs have always been happy and well fed (he thinks Ryan should lay off on the dog biscuits) and it’s consistently been clean and undisturbed.

        Brendon smiles to himself. It wasn’t a bad idea. He’s glad Ryan is his dog-sitter.

 

* * *

 

        After feeding the dogs, Ryan decides to stay a little longer. Maybe there’s something in the air, but he wants to relax prior to walking home. The **crunch crunch** of doggy mouths chewing fills the air, and Ryan leans back into his spot on the couch.

        The sun is setting and the living room walls are a pale orange. Ryan props his head against his hand, settling into the side of the plush, white couch. The atmosphere is warm, and content. His socked feet are rubbing against the carpet, enjoying the scratchy-soft texture. He sighs, gazing at the corner of the living room and the entryway. Penny Lane has finished her food and is taking a nap on his jacket. He could have sworn he’d hung it up. He doesn’t mind. Penny’s a sweet dog.

        He can feel drowsiness settling into his bones like an old friend. Comforting and altogether welcome. Dottie waddled over and plopped onto his toes, warming them with her round belly.

        The dogs agreed it was naptime.

        It had been a long week… He could wake up before Brendon got home…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is shorter than the other two, partially because I wrote out a draft last night and ao3 didn't save it for some reason :/ I was very sad.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was found two hundred years later with the skeleton of a sleeping dog on the yellowed bones of his toes, once fashionable sunglasses perched atop an abnormally tall skull.

        Brendon whistles as he gets the plastic bags out of his car. It was about 7:30 and the sun has been setting earlier because of Fall’s arrival. “Please, don’t have peed in the house. Please.”

        He hadn’t considered how bad traffic would be, so his short trip home took longer than he'd hoped. Brendon walks up to his door, finding it unlocked. The thought crosses his mind that maybe…no. Or, he hopes not.

        He opens the door and Bogart skitters up to him, tail wagging. Human-yes-yay-I-love-you-I’m-so-glad-you’re-home-other-human’s-asleep-and-I-think-we-should-protect-him-and-keep-him-I’m-glad-you’re-finally-home-to-accept-him-into-our-pack.

        Brendon bends down to rub the excited dog’s belly. “Hey, buddy. How’re you doing? Wanna walk? Yeah?”

        Bogart lets his tongue hang. Human-priorities-please-sleepy-puppy-in-the-other-room-take-care-of-him. He barks, demonstrating the urgency of his message, and runs into the living room, determined to fulfill his mission. Bogart believes it is high time for his master human to take care of the pup that had been visiting for so long. The pup's scent was everywhere by now. Penny Lane enjoyed her naps on the pup's cushion when his jacket was nowhere to be found. Bogart finds comfort in the cushion too but is far too dignified to roll on it like his younger companion did. After all, what would Dot think of them? (She'd join in, but let's not tell Bogart that) He believes both visitors deserve recognition from the master human.

        Brendon follows him, detouring into the kitchen to put his groceries (it says something that peppers and pre-cooked beef count as groceries for Brendon) on the counter. He opens the fridge, grimacing at the sight of old takeout boxes. Whenever his cooking took a turn for the worst, there was always the dependable Chinese delivery to save his stomach.

        A low 'woof' brings his attention away from the dried out fried rice, and he sees someone new in his house. The singer blinks for a moment, staring at the hound sitting in his kitchen.

        "Hello." His voice is calm, meanwhile, his brain is laughing and freaking out, screaming, "Why is there a dog I don't own in my house? Is it nice? Can I pet it? Am I sleep? What's happening?" He crouches down, holding out a hand, palm up.

        The older dog waddles forward set her head on his hand and let out a low whine.

        "Hey, girl." Brendon double checks her collar to make sure-yup, she's Ryan's Dot. He rubs her ears together, grinning at the rumble in her throat as she closes her eyes. "I guess if you're here, he must be too." He sighs. It was inevitable. By now, it had been all long that it felt more awkward to see Ryan than it would have been if he'd just seen him at the beginning of this strange agreement.

        "I don't suppose he forgot you here?" He whispers to the dog, knowing that Ryan would never leave Dot anywhere by accident. He does wonder if this is why he's been going through dog food faster than usual, though.

        Dottie 'woofs' back at him, turns around and sits on his feet. Brendon watches her, smiling and thinking, 'I'm going to be stuck in my kitchen with raw beef on the counter, slowly going rancid, because a dog has fallen asleep on my feet. This is okay with me.'

        He was found two hundred years later with the skeleton of a sleeping dog on the yellowed bones of his toes, once fashionable sunglasses perched atop an abnormally tall skull.

        Sometimes he contemplates his life decisions.

        Brendon stands up, shifting his feet, trying to displace the dog without upsetting her. Dot remains content below him. She is thinking of biscuits and chipmunks, not in the way other dogs might, for the chipmunks were her close friends, and biscuits, while smelling delicious, make her tummy upset. The wizened dog considers how something that appears to be so good, can be so terrible once taken in. Chipmunks like them, though. She doesn't know their names, but three chipmunks reside in her master's backyard. Their small hole underneath the flowerpot beside the deck door is too small for her to enter and explore, even while she's tried to make it bigger, so she isn't able to talk to her dear friends often, but they will sometimes come out for a nice game of tag every so often. She loves her little chipmunk family.

        After a few seconds of staring at Dot, Brendon gives up on being patient and, once his feet are out from underneath her, he put the meat in the fridge and makes his way to the living room. He isn't sure what he'll say to Ryan; part of him is amazed that the other man hasn't shown himself yet, and he's sure it will be awkward no matter the way he goes about it. Brendon looks around the living room. The curtains haven't been closed, the sun is nearly set and it's dark. A white room is strange in the dark. The smallest amount of light makes it easy to see most things, but whatever you see gets tainted by whatever color the light is. The light in the white room is a mix of blue from the DVD player and orange from the sun.

        He opens his mouth to call out but stops himself when he sees Ryan. 'Oh. That's why.' Ryan's head was resting on the arm of his couch, arms covering his stomach, wrapping himself in his own scrawny hug, his feet were covered in gray wool socks, legs in black skinny jeans. Across the room, he can see that Penny Lane has been observing him from her leather nest. When did Ryan start wearing leather and skinny jeans?

        Brendon debates turning on a light. It wouldn't wake him up, Ryan always slept heavy. He takes a closer look at the man's face. Unshaven, but not out of control, and his hair is long enough to cover closed eyes. Ryan looks healthy. Different, but healthy. Brendon decides not to disturb his sleep.

        He slips back into the kitchen, forgoes his initial plan of cooking dinner and makes a peanut butter and jelly on toast sandwich. "I'll leave him alone for now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter from only one perspective. Huh. This is also quite short, so my apologies.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is supposed to be. I listened to Pretty. Odd. in the bath, ended up searching Ryden on Pintrest (again, I have no life right now, seriously, you'd think college would make me into some intellectual bound for the stars, but instead I'm writing fanfic with no foreseeable plot), watched all the Live in Chicago videos again, and wound up feeling a hole in my soul that wanted to write Ryan Ross. And I have an unhealthy love for Dottie. That's really what this is about, isn't it? I love Dottie.
> 
> I'm a mess.
> 
> I'm also not used to writing in the present tense, normally if you read my other stuff it's in the past tense, so that drove me nuts with this. Honestly, I don't know why I wrote this. I think I just needed to relax. My head's about to explode.
> 
> Okay, shutting up now.


End file.
